


Substandard Chocolate

by a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Male Lactation, Oral Sex, Pregnant futuristic trans male character/body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words/pseuds/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is eight months pregnant; he feels emotional and ugly and he's leaking from the chest and he's crying about substandard replicator chocolate and dirty clothing. He's worried that Jim is not attracted to him, and confused by their three-way relationship with Spock.</p><p>For some reason, Spock thinks this is the perfect time to give him a blowjob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substandard Chocolate

Pregnancy was bizarre at best. And it's not as though Leonard had ever intended for his original plumbing to get used this way, but apparently accidents still happen no matter how effectively you suppressed your germ line. 

But for all Bones' anxiety - and he had a lot of it - they were still a team. They all dealt with it in their own ways - Jim making preparations for baby showers and bedrooms and how they were going to convince Starfleet that a Baby On Board bumper sticker was better than dropping their CMO off at the nearest starbase. Spock was eminently practical. Bones was panicking. Everyone was doing their bit. Between them they made a normal, dysfunctional family.

Still, Bones was pretty confused about the whole Spock thing, or rather, the him-and-Spock thing. He and Jim had been dabbling in something-more-than-friendship since the second year of the Academy, and Kirk and Spock practically came as a pair. Leonard was certain that Jim was Spock's first close friend, and perhaps his only one, although he and Uhura were a shoe in for second place.

But whilst the discourse between McCoy and Spock was jousting that frequently walked the line of flirtation, the actual hows and whys of their relationship progression eluded him. 

Frequently, they found themselves alone together with nothing to do but bicker and tease or engage in scientific "debate". Now though, that Bones was on a different set of hormones and ground down by the general malaise of the eighth month of pregnancy, things were different. He was different. His belly weighed and impeded and was messing with his back and his walk and a sizable fetus was dancing periodically on his bladder for kicks and pushing all his organs round. He was tired and grumpy, and yesterday he'd cried because there weren't enough hazelnuts in his replicated chocolate. 

He'd never been one to worry or care about his appearance to any great degree, but he was surprised how unattractive he felt. He was soft and chubby and for a man he was overly and disproportionately round in the middle and his nipples were twice the size on his swollen breasts and were starting to leave damp patches of colostrum showing though his shirts - which Chapel had seized upon and compelled him to pump what amounted to a disappointing 200ml over three days for the hypothetical newborn whose mother was unable to breastfeed it who might one day board the Enterprise. In short, he felt horrendous and as far as he was concerned, he looked worse. When he wasn't crying snot into one of Jim's shirts, he was avoiding him because he just didn't want to be seen. Rationally, he had the feeling that late pregnancy hormones might have a hand in his behaviour as well, but this did nothing to stop him from hiding in the nurse's on-call ready room. 

But here he was, in the ready room on the floor next to one of the bunks with one foot up on the bed trying to find a position that was halfway comfortable. His chest felt sore and he rubbed it only for his hand to come away damp and sticky with pale yellow pre-milk milk. His shirt was ruined, just like all his others. His nipples hurt and now he would have to wear the uncomfortable damp cloth against them until he could change and the process repeated itself, and someone was kicking him repeatedly against the inside of his navel in a breakout attempt that was doomed to fail. Jim obviously thought he was ugly like this, all stretched out and horrible and breathing like someone had lodged a stylus up one of his nostrils. He had been forced to admit that whatever dignity he'd thought he would preserve, that he was an ugly crier. He rubbed his eyes as evaporating tears burned them with salt, and sobbed even harder because he knew his face would be red and crumpled from the crying. 

"Doctor, have you fallen?" Spock was at his side within a second of the door opening, hands passing over him in an attempt to assess the situation. 

"No! I'm fine!" McCoy half shouted at him, mouth full of saliva and snot that had run out of his nose and into his mouth. "I'm just upset!"

Nonetheless, he allowed Spock to maneuver him into a sitting position without breaking from his body-shaking misery. "What is the cause of your distress?"

McCoy swallowed, trying to center himself on the feel of Spock's arm supporting him from behind and his other hand on his belly. The Vulcan closed his eyes for a moment and the kicking died down. Leonard wanted to say something about un-peer reviewed medical techniques, but knowing Vulcans mindmelding with the unborn is probably the subject of several centuries of research. Also, he was still blubbering quite unflatteringly. "Everything. I'm fat and ugly and I've gotta push a baby out a hole I never use, and the chocolate from the replicators is crappy and my nipples are gonna get chapped or thrush from being damp and, and... And... All my clothes are ruined!"

He dissolved into a semi-vocal declaration of misery and Spock hauled him easily to his swollen feet and pulled him through to the bathroom. 

Spock sat him on the sink as though he were a small child and not thirteen stone of man and baby and amniotic fluid, and then proceeded to divest him of his shirts, looking desperately as though he wanted to make a comment about how all clothing was simply destroyed and re-replicated when it was soiled, but didn't dare whilst McCoy was still sitting in a bathroom crying. 

He demonstrated the fact instead, inserting the damp items into the replicator in exchange for a washcloth which he ran under the tap whilst Leonard did breathing exercises in an attempt to control  _something_. 

He allowed Spock to wipe his face, feeling the cool of the cloth against hot skin. "Sorry about that, Spock." He said, as though he weren't still sobbing softly. 

Spock rinsed the washcloth with cold water and brought it back up to cover McCoy's puffy eyes. "I am fully used to your irrational behaviours, Doctor, I have had many years to become accustomed to them. Indeed, it is gratifying to me that at least for these past eight point one months, you have been aware of your own illogical behaviour, whereas in practice this has rarely been the case at other times."

This was too long a sentence for him to respond to, so he didn't, letting his eyes rest shut on the tears as Spock rinsed the cloth again. He started when he felt the cold and rough against one nipple, crying out softly and whimpering in shock and despair at the way the sensitive, engorged flesh felt every strand and groove of the material. Spock soothed the stickiness of the milk away, holding the flannel on to cool the swollen skin. Then he moved over to the other side, rubbing in small circular motions that almost but didn't quite hurt. 

Bones groaned. 

Spock stepped back, looking surprised, but did not retract the washcloth. "I was not aware you could achieve an erection with your current hormonal make-up."

Too exhausted to be appropriately mortified, Leonard shrugged. "I take viagra in low doses to reduce the risk of preeclampsia, since my body isn't exactly designed to build a decent placenta these days." The conversation should have been making the problem go away, but Spock was still massaging his right nipple, which had hardened under his ministrations to the point that they were now becoming counterproductive. "You gotta stop doin' that or you're gonna build me up enough Oxytocin to go into labor or fall in love with you." Him and his big mouth; pregnancy itself hadn't made his lips lose, but a sense of the entitlement to an opinion since he was miserable and pregnant clearly had. 

"Despite your unnecessary concern, you are not unattractive."

This observation was almost as troubling as his hard cock; if there was one thing that Spock currently had up on Jim, it was that Leonard had been pretty sure that Spock wasn't rating him on his appearance; that at least he could be flawed and pregnant and horrible in front of him. This was apparently untrue. 

"May I?" Spock asked him, giving absolutely no indication of whatever his intentions might actually have been. 

"Sure." Bones waved him on out of curiosity and apathy. 

Spock pulled him forwards so that he was closer to the edge of the surface and unzipped his fly. Leonard looked at him in surprise, but said nothing, and Spock did not look up. 

Instead, he lapped at the head of McCoy's cock, tongue Vulcan and rough. Bones moaned and groaned and thrust forward, endangering his position perched upon the sink but succeeding in sinking himself deeper into Spock's throat. 

Spock sucked and swallowed and hummed around his member, throat slightly cooler than a human's and slick and hungry. That rough tongue slid up the underside, played with the slit when Spock drew back and rubbed at the rim. Damn his fucking baby bump, once and for all, because Leonard couldn't actually  _see_ any of this, and he had the feeling that were he less ugly than he felt, it would be a sight to behold. The Vulcan supported his weight with a hand on his distended belly and another stroking the overly-soft skin of his inner thigh where his hair had thinned from a lack of testosterone. 

Spock sped up, slipping up and down McCoy's cock needily and greedily, and Bones was willing to bet, with an obscene amount of dignity. His tongue followed and dragged up and down the aching member, swirling as Spock pulled right up to the head and maintaining a firm pressure as he slammed back down. 

"Fuck, Spock!" Bones hissed, tears forgotten, fingers twisting in sleek black hair.

Spock swallowed thickly around his cock and pulled back, wiping clear liquid from his lips. McCoy wasn't surprised; his sperm production had dried up months ago. The Vulcan disentangled the stiff fingers from his hair and stroked them gently in something Leonard recognised from Spock's brief and usually accidental public displays of affection with Jim.

"You appear to be feeling better." Spock observed with a reserve that should be stripped from anyone who's just given a blow job. 

"Uh huh." Bones replied stupidly as Spock tucked his flaccid penis back into his pants and zipped them up. 

"Let us get ourselves back to ship duties, Doctor." Spock told him, and left him alone to replicate scrubs and go back to work. 

 

 

 

Bones sniffed. He ought to know better than to read sad books when he was pregnant, but having never been pregnant before, he didn't. Spock looked up, noticing his pout. 

"Is everything alright, Doctor?"

"Well, I'm just feelin' a little strung out," He told him. "You, know, the other day you really helped me calm down. You should indulge a pregnant guy, things are hard for us."

Spock's eyebrow shot up past his hair line. After a second of silence he stood and walked to stand beside Leonard's chair. "Very well."


End file.
